Shadow & Death
by iwishicouldthinkofagoodname
Summary: A little something I wrote in my spare time.
1. Chapter 1: Shadow

Born from Shadow & Death

Chapter 1 – Shadow

Lugbul sat in the South Wall Corner Club at a table sodden with alcohol, his huge hand wrapped around a tankard of beer, three empty and several filled cups surrounding him. He swallowed the beer in two gulps and let his hand fall to the table, grabbing another as soon as he let go of the last. His huge frame was steady and calm as he drank, the beers barely taking effect on the massive seven foot orc. Lugbul glanced around the room, huffing a huge sigh and turning back to his last tankard. After finishing his last cup, he reached for an empty tankard and took a swig of nothing before turning again to order another drink. A hand fell on his shoulder as he went to raise his hand, and a hooded figure stood behind him. "A drink, barkeep," the cloaked stranger called, "the last the good orc ordered." The Dunmer barkeep stacked a number of beers onto a tray and strode over as the stranger sat next to Lugbul. "Hail friend," the figure said, pulling back the hood to reveal a face of Breton heritage, dark hair framing stern features, a dark goatee and green eyes gazing at him across the table, "I take it you are Lugbul the Giant?" Lugbul straightened up, beers spinning his head slightly and the stranger's confrontation plucking at his nerves. "And who's asking?" The great orc grumbled. "Calm now," the stranger snapped back, "I am Ernand, your contact." The orc relaxed a little, scowling at the manner of the Breton. "and these," Ernand continued, gesturing to a table across the room, "are your fellows." A female Khajiit, a female Argonian and a Redguard male left their table and strolled over to sit next to the pair. "Allow me to introduce," Ernand started.

"Allow us to introduce ourselves," the Khajiit interrupted, "this one's name is Moonsmile, a Khajiit as you see," she smiled broadly, "and maybe more. All you need know is you need my talents." She winked at Ernand, and purred. Her brown and black fur was short, with her ears perky and her brown eyes alert. "I'm Waylas," the Redguard started, a muscular, tall man with bushy black hair, "a warrior, same as you and Smile here. Some skill in climbing and getting out of tight situations, and of course, other invaluable talents." He smiled broadly too, an arbour of beaming faces blooming in front of Lugbul. "Please, you'll all be hired," Ernand interjected, looking slightly annoyed, "lastly, though, we have Watch, or Watches-Her-Tail to use her full name." The Argonian turned to Lugbul, bowed her head, "A mage, like Ernand," she said quietly, "skilled in Illusion and Mysticism, but dapple in Restoration." She had a red and green colouration to her skin, slicked back fins on her head and a soft expression, a stark contrast to Ernand's fierce visage. The orc took his drink and finished it in a single gulp, buelched and slammed his cup onto the table. "Lugbul," he muttered brusquely, "Warrior."

"An orc of few words," Ernand said after a short pause.

"And one of fewer strikes, let's hope." Waylas finished. Moonsmile chuckled and Watch smiled slightly. Ernand took a small swig of beer and placed his drink down firmly. "Let me explain why I've called you here." The mage said, looking round at the table. "I work as a retainer for a very powerful mage, politically as well as magically. He has contracted me to investigate a nearby tomb and cave system to find the cause of these nightmares he's been having. I have hence hired you to prepare for every eventuality." He looked around the table again, "Lugbul the giant, for muscle and raw power, Waylas for extra muscle and his acrobatic prowess, Moonsmile, for her quick reflexes, night eye and…more unsavoury talents, and finally Watch, for her Illusion talents." He smiled at the team he assembled, and placed four bags of gold on the table. "And here is the payment my master promises." Lugbul's expression softened somewhat, and the mood of the entire table lifted a little. "Around 300 gold for each of you, a suitable price for perhaps three days of work," Ernand said, "And maybe a bonus, if you manage to complete the task expediently. Even a possible contract if you show real worth."

"Very nice," Waylas said, "I'm willing, but let's hear more. You ever been to these tombs or cave systems?"

"Yes," Moonsmile purred, "have you seen inside these tombs? Moonsmile wants to know what brings you to bring us together."

"I have been there," Ernand admitted, "it is not far from here, about half a day's hike. I did not go far into the tombs. There are obstacles, as well as some undead wandering about. Hence, I have enlisted your help, mostly for your combat expertise." The mage drained his tankard before continuing. "So there are two options open to us," Ernand said, "we could stay here for the night, the best option, in my opinion. Or we leave tonight and hike toward the site, setting up camp when it gets too late."

"We stay here tonight," Moonsmile interjected, "we have drunk much, and need good bedding."

"It's already quite late," Waylas said, "we wouldn't get far before having to set up camp. Best start first thing in the morning." Watch nodded, saying nothing, and Lugbul grunted in agreement.

"The it is decided," Ernand said, clapping his hands together, "I'll pay for your night's stay, it shouldn't be too expensive, but likely we'll have to share rooms. The Khajiit and the Argonian will stay together, the rest of us will be in a separate room. It's only polite." The mage smiled and went to pay the barkeep. As he left, Moonsmile turned to her new partners. "This Khajiit feels wary of the mage," she purred softly, "his face, it has the look of great cruelty. This one thinks he plans to rob us."

"Ha, you think so, Smile?" Waylas laughed, "even a mage like him can't match us four at the same time. He's taking a big risk, considering he has 300 gold and we have little by comparison." The Khajiit dwelt on this while Lugbul looked down at the empty cup before him. "He's paying, I'm going," he grunted, "need the money, want the work." The short, blunt response was never met with a reply, as Ernand returned. "We have rooms, we have food, and we have breakfast," he said, placing a small tray of bread and kwama eggs on the table, "Kwama eggs and bread. I have some apples in my bag should anyone feel the need for anything different." The mage sat as Moonsmile picked up one of the eggs and Waylas took a chunk of bread. "This'll do for tonight," he said, taking a large bite. Lugbul took one of the eggs and broke it open, slurping at the liquid within, while the table tucked into the meagre meal. "So, my accomplices, we know names but no stories," Moonsmile beamed a smile worthy of her name sake, "let Moonsmile hear your life."

"I'll start," Waylas said, "these two don't look very talkative," he said gesturing to Lugbul and Watch, "I grew up here, in Balmora with my mother, who was worker in the nearby Kwama Mine. She died when I was twelve, in an incident with a Kwama Warrior, and I joined the Fighters Guild. Been here all my life, explored a bit, been in the wild, seen some things I'd rather forget, but the guild has kept me in good health and wealth for a long time. Except for recently mind. Youngsters I train at the guild call me the Old War Horse, and they're taking all the jobs like I'm already out to pasture," Waylas grabbed a kwama egg to finish the last of his bread, "I'll show them though, bring back an undead head and show them the real world. Most only know the Guild Hall and Balmora. I'll set them right though, teach them something drills can't them." His expression was light, but his voice had the slightest ring of bitterness. His tale finished, Waylas smiled again, his toothy grin almost a match for Moonsmile's. "I'll take over," Ernand began, "I'm a Tel'vanni retainer, working for a wizard who rather not be known to his employees in such a delicate task. His nightmares warn of an old rival back from beyond the grave, seeking revenge, and has decided to deal with this anonymously. But as for me, I'm but a simple Breton mage, looking to garner deeper secrets in magic. I was originally the son of a farmer in High Rock, before a fire burnt down the house, killing my mother. My father left High Rock after that, and we came east, looking for work in Skyrim, before coming to Morrowind. His savings took us all over Vvardenfell, but there was no work to be found anywhere. In the end, I don't know what became of my father. In one busy street in some city I don't remember the name of, he was stabbed in the side and I was taken from him. I was kidnapped by a retainer of the same wizard I now work for," Ernand rolled up his robe sleeve, revealing a horrific scar, "and this is what he wanted with me. Practical knowledge of the destructive arts. This is a magicka burn, after freezing first. He practiced on me when possible, but given the illicit nature of the experiments, it wasn't too often. I bear him no grudge now, given that he shared his findings with me when I came of age and he took me into his employ." The mage then fell quiet. Watch's eyes had widened considerably, and a sombre look was spread across the other's face. "I can tell you, I wouldn't have left the wizard alive if he had done that to me." Waylas commented. Ernand turned to the man.

"There was a Redguard, like you, in those cells. When they came to give him the choice, he charged them. As far as I know, he's still down there, either dead, tortured or worse. The choice was never much of a choice, but I made the right decision." The Redguard's mouth curled slightly at the edges and his eyes were fixed on Ernands'. "You find torture of your kin funny, Redguard?" Lugbul spoke up. Waylas turned to the orc. "Not in the slightest, my fine orc," he replied, "I find it funny that a mage is trying to fuel my fire with a load of kwama shit about one of my own being down there with him. He was lying, and it was so obvious, it was amusing to me."

"The Redguard has a keen eye," Moonsmile joined in, "The mage is trying to pluck his nerves like a lute." Her teeth shone as she beamed. Lugbul looked to Ernand.

"It's true, there was no Redguard," he admitted, "I'm prickly when it comes to criticism, especially of something that caused me great pain." Ernand looked each of them in eye. Moonsmile purred, Waylas chuckled, Watch looked down at her bread and Lugbul kept his stare constant. "More," Moonsmile demanded, "This one enjoys the conversation, there must be more."

"Then tell us your tale, 'Smile," Waylas shot back, "You demand more, but give nothin'. I want to hear what makes for such a curious Khajiit." Moonsmile reclined in her chair, finishing her Kwama egg and stroking her own stomach. "Very well," she said finally, "You will hear this one's story. It begins in Elswyr, as a cub. On the streets of my hometown, one day, this one runs away from this one's parents. This one hides and hopes the parents seek. A hand grabs this one's soft fur, and a bag covers this one. The world turns black, and when it returns, this one is in shackles, and surrounded by others in chains. This one lives as a slave in the fields for many years, before breaking free and running away. This one comes to Balmora, selling this one's body for money. The shadows see this one, and put this one to use. Now this one has luxury and work, and hopes to buy new things with fortune of 300 gold." The Khajiit smiled broadly, as it seemed she had been doing all night. Attention turned to Lugbul, and the table waited. "Ahem, I will tell my tale next," Watch said timidly, "I, like Moonsmile, was taken prisoner from an early age. I escaped my servitude when a fellow Argonian mage broke my bonds and brought me here, to work at the Mage's Guild. It has been several years since I escaped, and I've learnt much in that time. Much of it is Illusion and Mysticism magic, as these schools complemented my saviour's repertoire." She fell quiet.

"So you have relations with this Argonian gentleman?" Waylas said, almost mocking her polite, well-mannered tone. "Not in the slightest," she answered quickly, blushing slightly, "he has been kind to me out of pity."

"And your name?" Moonsmile asked in soft, husky voice, "Tell this one why you watch your tail so?"

"It is the name my saviour gave me," she answered, "after slavery, much made me jump. Having no memory of my own name, he decided that would be a good one for me." Again, she fell quiet, and attention turned to Lugbul. He had finished his bread and Kwama eggs, taking a little more than the others, given his large build. He looked at each of them, his stare hard and unyielding. Eventually, he began. It wasn't a story he relished. "It begins," he started, "in Hammerfell, in the Dragontail Mountains. Near, there is an estate where my clan lives. I was once Lugbul Rugob, but now I am Lugbul the Spurned. Once in the mountains, when I was younger and less knowing, I took my smaller clanmates into mountains to hike, and there we came across a group of vampires. I told my clanmates to hide. I was afraid of vampires. We hid, but they found us. I ran, but the others were slain. I returned to my clan and they spurned me, and turned to Malacath for guidance. He told them to throw me out. I was exiled, and travelled here, working my way through Tamriel." He sighed when he finished. The table sat quietly, the other patrons all drinking and talking still. "I think it's time we stole away," Ernand said eventually, "to our rooms. We'll be starting early, so let's get some sleep while we can. Follow me." The table emptied as the group followed Ernand upstairs.


	2. Chapter 2: Death

Chapter 2 – Death

At first light of the next day, the company of five gathered their things and started off to the tomb. Walking briskly through the Western Gate, Ernand lead them across the Morrowind countryside. Slender trees of bright green foliage swayed gently in the breeze, wet grass and mud beneath their feet. The journey was quiet mostly, Ernand keeping an eye on his map as he walked, Watch keeping to herself and Waylas and 'Smile talking amongst themselves. Lugbul brought up the rear, keeping a watch for anything untoward. The troupe continued on in this way for most of the day, trudging through the wilderness, only a brief shower interrupting the bright sunshine. It was evening by the time the five finally reached their destination. They had travelled mostly through verdant woodland and plains, before finally coming upon a small cave entrance hidden from the beaten path. The rocks around the entrance were strangely jagged and shone bizarrely in the twilight sun. Ernand turned to his mercenaries, "Here we are, my friends," his green eyes shone excitedly, "this is the entrance to the tomb. We will enter in single formation, Lugbul at the front, me at the back. I think it best if Watch stays close to the rear, Waylas and 'Smile behind Lugbul." There was a pause.

"As you wish, Ernand," Waylas conceded, "I see no problem with this plan." Lugbul gave no response, merely readied his warhammer and handed his bag to Watch. "Watch this." He grunted, shoving the heavy burden into her arms. The rest fell in behind him as he strode to the small crack of an entrance. Crouching and squirming, the giant orc managed to gain access to the cave, the others having no problem entering. The entrance brought them to a passageway much larger than the entrance hole, dark rock and shadows on every side. Waylas lit a torch with some flint and handed it to Lugbul. The orc took it, and sheathed his hammer, instead drawing a longsword, wielding it in a single hand. The five then began to explore the caves. "From here, we go straight, then make a left." Ernand whispered. Lugbul grunted, agitated that the mage's whisperings might alert undead. They followed Ernand's directions for at least an hour, before 'Smile spoke. "This one is sure this is a path already trodden," she hissed.

"Aye," Waylas agreed, "we're going in circles." Lugbul stopped and turned around to see the others. In the flickering light of the torch, their faces were half wreathed in shadow. "Nonsense," Ernand insisted, "this is the precise route I took last time. I have it here on the map, written in my master's hand. Now keep going. We go straight at the next junction, then a left." The company returned to their travel, but a feeling had descended on them. The air grew thin, and the walking began to take it's toll on their stamina. Finally, Waylas talked again. "Ernand," he began doggedly, "I want to see that map. Where are we?" The mage drew back and held the map close to him.

"This is not your map to see," he said forcefully, "now if you please, we're almost there." 'Smile did not move. "Almost where?" She said, "You never said you made it all the way to the tomb, and we've seen no undead."

"I don't know where they are, but we should continue," the mage said, "we're almost at the end of the caves and at the tomb. We'll get in, investigate and leave. If there are no more undead, then all the better." The mage's tone was shifting and uncertain. He seemed insistent one moment and sincere the next. There was something strange afoot certainly. Lugbul continued, the rest falling in behind. Finally, after a right turn, the company came to the tomb.

A great room, it was all covered in shining stone that gleamed in the torch light. There was no grave or crypt in sight, only the shining rock; along one side the room flattened, and something of a wall could be seen. Indentations in the flat rock gave it a bizarre look, an interlinking pattern of curves and straight lines that looked like ripples on water from afar. Lugbul approached the flat face and regarded it intently, mystified by its weird appearance. The others spread out and looked about the room. "There's nothing here," Waylas began, "Ernand, what is the me-" He stopped short of finishing his sentence. Ernand chanted and light burst from his open palm, wreathing the room in a dark, pulsating crimson. Lugbul rushed at the Breton mage, stopping in his tracks as he gazed upon Ernand's true form. Dark, horny skin made callous and burnt, tinged with crimson, eyes like malicious fire. The great orc cowered before the mighty visage of a dremora lord, its armor seething with fiery rage, the air screaming it as the heat grew. The khajiit flung herself away from the daedra, the dry heat blast enough to crack the walls. The rocks shimmered in the heat and light around Waylas as he scrambled from the hulking figure, and Watch wailed in fear and clutched her eyes. Lugbul's orcish instinct returned to him just as the dremora lord closed on him, a wickedly sharp blade now conjured in its gauntleted hand. With unsteady steps the orc met the daedra, and swung his hammer at the fiend's head. The blow was parried with ease and speed, the chink of metal mixed with an surreal and echoing ringing from the dremora's blade. The room bucked and swayed, Lugbul's stomach lurching with it, tinges of fear rearing in his gut. The daedra strode with sure feet, his blade flowing from his side. Lugbul raised him hammer with heavy hands, his head reeling from the motion of the room, and the daedric blade met the hammer's head. A scraping sound, like a screech, pierced the air, and a deep groove scarred the hammer's face. A second blow, almost immediately this time, swept across to meet Lugbul's throat. The orc held the hammer sideways, and let the head drop. The weight added speed to Lugbul's movement, despite his spinning head and quivering senses, and the shaft of the hammer met the blade of the sword. The wooden shaft cleaved in two, the hammer head fell to the ground, too heavy to hold with one hand, even for Lugbul. The other part remained in the orc's hand, pathetic and useless. The daedra sneered, dark fangs in deep purple flesh. With a stab of his sword, the daedra impaled the orc through the chest, blood pouring from the wound onto the floor of the chamber. The blade of its sword bloomed with purple light as Lugbul's soul was absorbed into the weapon, and the orc fell back dead onto the floor. The dremora lord scoured the room, seeing that the others had escaped the room. It retrieved its blade from the orc's body, and strode over to the flattend rock. It touched the tip off the sword against the wall, and a bloody red light began to glow from the indentations, the curves forming a daedric symbol. The pattern shifted, and the symbol rearranged itself. When the process was done, the light faded, and the dremora stepped back. It turned to the exit of the room and began its hunt for the others.

Waylas and Watch had both scrambled out of the passage and away from the dremora the moment Lugbul had met him in combat. Neither had planned on following the other, only blind terror and dumb luck had brought them together. Their other partner, Moonsmile, had disappeared elsewhere, to parts unknown. They stumbled through the dark, their hands reaching for the cold, dead feel of the cave walls, desperately trying to escape. They finally felt their way to a dead end, where they stopped to catch their breath. "Watch," Waylas gasped, "you have Illusion magick? Get us a light." The Argonian took a moment, before conjuring a small light that timidly revealed their surroundings. Waylas was sitting beside her as she leant against the wall, sweating and struggling for air. "Was that really a Daedra?" He asked.

"I don't know." she whispered. She was shaking, wavering the light and juddering the shadows around them. "I know no magick that could transform in such a way." She admitted finally, after several gulps of air. Waylas had sufficiently calmed to begin thinking. "We need to get out of here. Sorcery or not, I don't want to deal with it."

"Agreed," Watch said, "but how?"

"We need the map."

"But that thing has it."

"Then we should try to steal it. Maybe it left it behind." Watch fell to her knees, the light fading. Waylas stood up. "We also need to find 'Smile. She can get us out of here, without light as well." Through the rolling tunnels came a sound, of metal on stone, of surreal clinking, of echoing scraping. The pair went silent, and Watch's light dwindled into nothing.

The daedra stalked the tunnels, predatory, searching this way and that, smelling the flesh of his victims. Two to his left, resting, one ahead and slightly to the right, lying prone. The game was afoot.

Moonsmile had sprinted far on all fours, barely able to keep her bearings as she tore through the caves. She didn't see the drop until it was too late, and now she lay, body broken, at the bottom of some forsaken pit. She tried to move; clicks and cracks of broken bone mixed with her moans. She fell silent again as the sound of the dremora became audible. She had broken both her legs trying to avoid jagged rocks, and even then she had only managed to land on the least sharp. A sharp spike had pierced her abdomen, and her head had been cracked open. Her vision began to fade to black when she saw it; as the world grew dark, its form grew sharper, a terrifying form breaking through the shadows of a darkening world. When the sword pierced her chest, she felt the burning of a thousand fires erupt from her heart and spread through her body. Her life left her, and her soul was imprisoned within the daedra's blade.

Waylas had gone on without Watch; after some hissed arguing, he had parted ways with her. It was foolish to wait for the daedra to give up. Waylas was all but certain that it would hunt them until it had them. So he left, even daring to light a torch, and began his search for the exit. Blade drawn, he wandered for a while, before he heard it again. The surreal clicking that echoed weirdly in the ears. It got louder and louder. Everywhere he turned he heard it, louder and louder. He turned this way and that, frantically running from it. But ever louder it became. Then out of the shadow, a streak of light. Torchlight reflected from the daedra's blade as it speared out from the darkness, stabbing Waylas through the heart. Another bloom of purple light, and Waylas' soul was trapped within the sordid weapon. The daedra left the body, closing in on the last of his prey…

Watch sat shivering on the floor of the rocky passage, unable to move. The darkness enveloped her; she dared not light a spell, for the daedra would be there, his fangs waiting for her. She jumped at the dripping of water near her, her mind hearing the same bizarre clinking of the dremora's armour instead. When she finally heard the unnatural sound of its approach, her mind broke. Casting a spell, Watch illuminated the cavern tunnel, and looked around frantically. Her eyes darted from wall to wall. She was still at the dead end. She began to head back, when she saw it before her. Shrieking, she fell backward, as the daedra gracefully charged her, blade slicing from side to side, before it finally plunged into her chest. The final plume of purple light, and the Argonian's soul was ensnared within the cruel metal of the daedra's blade.

In the rocky chamber where Lugbul lay, the dremora returned, sword in hand. He tapped the tip to the wall again, and the lines glowed a deep red again. They shifted and slid across the smooth surface, until finally they formed a circle. Within its lines, a bright red beam of light poured forth. It grew brighter and brighter, the dremora grinning a hideous grin, and soon the whole chamber was alight with red. From beyond the endless planes and times of the daedra, there came a voice: "You have not surprised me…" Another voice, violent, angry, roared at the daedra, "You have failed!" The light began to burn. The daedra once known as Ernand panicked, feeling its form being dissolved, its body being rent apart. Its soul burned away from it, churning in the endless red. Its soul did not return to Oblivion however, and neither did its form. The light began to fade, and then focus. It shone on the body of Lugbul, where the daedra's soul flowed like a leaf on a mighty river. The light intensified once more, healing and restoring Lugbul's body as the soul merged with him. Finally, the light faded, and the room grew dark. The smoothed wall no longer held the indentations, no being totally plain. In the centre of the room lay Lugbul, now changed. Where before he had had smooth green skin, he now had coarse, dark grey flesh. His tusks and jaw were more pronounced, more sharp, and horns had grown on his forehead. His hair was completely gone. Lugbul lay in his new form, completely unconscious, for a few moments, before a voice called to him. "Awaken, Lugbul, Spurned Son…" Slowly, the orc awoke and sat up. He recoiled at his form, surprised at the sight he found. "Who goes there?" He said, "who goes there?!" The orc roared. A bolt of pain raced across his fore head, and he recoiled. He brought his hands to his face instinctively. Upon seeing his hands, Lugbul stared in confusion. His hands shook also, constantly, no matter how hard he tried to still them. "Lugbul, Spurned Son, My Chosen," came the voice again. Lugbul got his feet now, casting his gaze around fervently for the source of the voice. "Lugbul, you hear the words of Malacath, your Daedric lord, and have been chosen as my champion." Lugbul listened in awe as the daedra continued. "You were overwhelmed by the daedra that dwelt here, in the service of Mehrunes Dagon. And here is where I brought you, to foil its plot. You know at least how to die well, even if you hadn't courage when you were young. Your part may have ended here, but I saw more use for you, Spurned Son." Lugbul's hands continued to quake throughout, the orc trying furiously to calm his body. "You have been bequeathed no special talents as my champion, Spurned Son, only your new body; it thirsts for blood and vengeance, instilled with the soul of a vengeful daedra, and seeks to exact such vengeance on the persecutors and tormentors of our kind. Your body does not seek rest, nor hunger nor thirst; it yearns only for revenge. Yet I have one blessing more to confer." A red bloom of light erupted from behind Lugbul, and turning to it, the orc saw an ornate claymore, of dark and crimson metal. "This weapon is the one that killed you, merged with the body of your murderer. With it, you will kill all those that would spurn those that once spurned you. This is your hour of redemption; let every orc sing of your name when put to blade. Lugbul, Spurned Son, Champion of Malacath. Go, and do my will!"


End file.
